


With Me

by Ivyfics (ivannab)



Series: Ghostfic [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Angst, Ghost!Kuroo, Ghostfic, Haunted!Tsukki, M/M, and then a lot of emotions, as per usual, the tiniest bit of crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-03-11 11:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivannab/pseuds/Ivyfics
Summary: He isn’t an evil ghost. NoPoltergeistwannabe, no blood-curdling screams in the ungodly hours of the night.Sometimes Tetsurou moves shit around.Writes things on mirrors with soap, but useful things like‘you’re out of milk’and‘the lady next door is peeking when you shower.’Kuroo haunts his apartment as he pleases, uncaring of who might also be living in it. He's used to watching people come and go.Then moves in Tsukishima Kei.





	1. He's a loser

**Author's Note:**

> It started with a shitty thread on twitter and somehow ended up here. Anyway, here's ghostfic.

So Tetsurou was dead. Is dead. Was?

He has a body but it’s fake?

Fitting into a category of the undead variety always messes with his sense of self so he’s going to ignore all of that existential pile of uncertainty and go with ghost. 

Ghost describes him well enough. His original physical body is dead, he thinks. There’s very little else that could explain his crossing through solid things and imperceptibility. 

That’s just a fancy word to say he’s see-through.

Tetsurou would know, seeing as he finished reading a thesaurus two days ago. An entire thesaurus. The whole thing. 

There’s not a lot to do when you’re dead. 

Anyway, back to his smokin' hot bod. 

Tetsurou  _ has _ a body now.

Unlike the last one, this one feels different, like adding extra features to a character in a game and trying to figure out how it works. There’s an opacity setting, for one. That was fun to find out. If he concentrates he can pick things up or make himself visible for a second or two. 

He isn’t an evil ghost. No  _ Poltergeist _ wannabe, no blood-curdling screams in the ungodly hours of the night.

Sometimes Tetsurou moves shit around. 

Writes things on mirrors with soap, but useful things like _ 'you’re out of milk' _ and _ 'the lady next door is peeking when you shower.' _

The apartment he’s staying at—technically, you could call it  _ haunting, _ but Tetsurou would like to think of himself as more of a roommate than anything—is not the best, but the people in it are decent enough-ish. Old walls with questionable stains make up the surprisingly garish but well-lit hallways, and the landlady changed the locks after his first tenant moved out, so it’s pretty safe.

Given, she changed the locks because she was sure they would come back to steal things, which they  _ did, _ but Tetsurou digresses.  

He might have locked out the previous tenant a time or two but the dude was an ass so he had it coming.  The lock is finicky at best and having to wait in a hallway for hours when the key is in the lock but won’t budge was the last straw for the dude after a string of questionable happenings, all courtesy of the live-in undead element of his housing situation. 

Being a ghost is pretty okay, but the lack of subtlety means his apartment has a revolving door. One tenant leaves, another arrives. What’s Tetsurou to do, not take advantage of the supernatural prowess he now possesses? 

(That’s fancy talk for being super awesome. In a spooky way.) 

He’s gone through maybe six in the past year, the last one breaking the record at three weeks before he was moving back out. 

Big baby. 

Tetsurou’s not expecting anyone so soon, the douchebag not being gone more than two days, but when he’s watching his  _ novela  _ the lock snaps and the hinges on the front door creak, giving way to the terrible dye job the landlady who owns this place has been sporting since he can remember. 

She’s stout and her voice is a squeak, rushing over to turn the t.v off right when Federico is telling Luciana that they’re related. Her shirt is this  _ awful  _ shade of yellow that clashes with the orange and purple from her hair.

If Tetsu was still alive he’d offer his services as a hairstylist but at least death brings the benefit of not having to deal with that misery. (Not that her hair could be anything other than a home bleach job.)

Besides that whole thing, there’s what he assumes is the new tenant standing awkwardly by the door. The new dude is tall.  He’s blonde, a first when his hair looks that healthy, curling and framing his face. Natural, too, according to his eyebrows. Either that or he can afford a really good stylist.

Karen’s twitchy, moving things around and fluffing out cushions—including the one right behind him, her hand going through Tetsurou before quickly snapping back as if burnt— all while avoiding eye contact with Eye Candy over there.

“The previous tenant vacated quickly,” Tall Dude says in that way that’s not phrased like a question but actually is. 

“Ah, yes. He had some–uh, family things to attend to, so he was on his way,” Karen replies, hands wringing together. 

Tetsurou snorts. “Yeah. Family stuff. Definitely not scared shitless.”

Black Rims’ mouth curls, eyes fixed on the tiny line of grime by the sink, “Anything weird with the apartment?”

“Oh, well, yes,” Karen tries to shrug, upper lip sweaty, “the water heater tends to be temperamental, no matter how many times I have it fixed. It’s why the price is so...reasonable.”

Tetsurou laughs. “So that’s what we’re calling driving the price down because it’s being haunted now?”

Focusing back on the screen, he narrows his eyes and throws his hand out with a curl. It’s theatrics, mostly. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean Tetsurou has let go of his penchant for flair. It clicks back to life, Luciana weeping dramatically. 

She’s pregnant with Federico’s baby so it’s a logical leap from where he left off.

Tetsurou glances over to Blondie to see his reaction, only to crash on the landlady. “Did you just cross yourself? I’m a ghost, Karen, not a demon. Rude.”

Big Bird interrupts before Karen can try and flub out an excuse for Tetsurou’s antics, “I’ll take it.”

* * *

 

Boxes take up half the wall of the living room, and in this apartment, that’s not saying much. There’s not many, five at most, but they’re stacked neatly and out of the way so at least New Dude is not an absolute slob and Tetsurou won’t have to deal with _ that  _ entire situation. 

Being dead doesn’t make dealing with disgusting laundry and week-old Chinese leftovers on counters any more pleasant. 

What Nerd Alert appears to be though, is a lonely loser with no friends.

Is that too harsh? 

Tetsurou doesn’t think so but no human contact does tend to make him rough around the edges.

He’s seen many a people move-in and even the lowest, most annoying of them had: 

  1. A lot more things.
  2. Like, a lot more emotional things. Knick-knacks and such: photos, mementos, discolored and raggedy stuffed animals that have seen way too much with their dead beady eyes ( Mr. Fuzzle was also haunted, in a good way. Someone’s grandma was definitely a witch of some kind).
  3. Someone to help them move in. 
  4. No seriously, you’d be shocked. There was this particularly foul asshole maybe three tenants ago that was just _the worst_. A flaming pile. He had his elderly aunt do all the heavy lifting for him while he had a beer, and yeah, human trash chute, but the point is even he had someone there. 



Stringbean has no one. He’s quiet as he sorts the only two boxes belonging to the bedroom. He’s been at it for the past hour, dusk melting in through the one window the living room can boast. There’s not much to do and Tetsurou gave up on human sightseeing less than a half-hour in, silence pressing on his nerves. The screen’s been on since then but it’s been ignored by the living resident, which Tetsurou can admit is a bit off.   
  
When Hipster Pants over there walks to the kitchen to get some water he stands in front of the lit television and gives absolutely no shits about it. Keeps on walking, pulls out a water bottle from one of the boxes, fills it up, and goes back to the bedroom. 

Tetsurou is baffled. 

He hovers over the back of the couch, bored. There’s not much to do once the six o’clock news flash on the screen. Tetsurou doesn’t pay attention to them, muting the sounds. You care less after you die, he's found. 

Low murmuring blends in with voices from the living room, volume low. It piques his interest and starts him into motion. A perk of being a ghost is not having to walk if you don’t want to, so Tetsurou floats.  Eiffel Tower is on the phone, spread out on the bed, clothes strewn around him. Black hoodie pulled up, it covers his earphones and Tetsurou swears he’s talking to himself as he folds for a hot minute before he shifts and a white cord peeks through. 

_ Oh, thank God. He’s not a complete loner. _

“Aki, it’s okay. I can move in by myself,” Four Eyes says, leaning over to grab another tee to fold, “you can’t help it. It’s fine.” His voice is soft, unhurried and low.  He has long fingers, graceful as he does something as mundane as clothes folding. They go through the motions mechanically, leaving neatly folded stacks in their wake. “It’s not a lot. I’m almost done.”

It’s a half-truth at best. Piled around him are the rest of his clothes, taking most of the bed. The rest of the boxes are still packed neatly, labeled  _ Kitchen _ ,  _ Winter Coats _ , and  _ Books _ . 

Two to three hours’ work at best. 

A pretty good attempt to reassure whoever’s on the line. 

Natural Blonde sighs, pausing to bring the shirt he’s folding to his forehead for a second, eyes closed.“I’ll be fine on my own. Say hi to mom for me. Bye, Aki.” 

It lasts only a moment—whatever it is that he’s doing—slow exhales and shut eyes, before he’s setting it aside and grabbing the next one. 

Tetsurou was wrong. New Kid has someone, too.  
  
News forgotten, Tetsurou looks at him work through the pile, tracking his fingers all along.

* * *

Beanpole is in college.

It says so on the student ID sitting on the kitchen counter. His name is Tsukishima Kei. 

It’s a pretty name.

It suits him. 


	2. They grow up so fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo. First I'd like to thank all of you for your lovely comments.I'm really happy that the first chapter was well received and you're excited for the rest of it, so thank you <3<3
> 
> The original idea was that I'd add tags as I went along as to not spoil anything but since I feel like the first chap is Kuroo being a dork maybe a quick disclaimer is in order. Sadly, this story is not all Kuroo being a paranormal loser. This is a bumpy ride, there will be angst. 
> 
> If you know me, I try to make it funny but so far what I have planned for this fic is a little different from my usual stuff. It's not going to get dark but it's not always going to be easygoing either. I don't want to say too much because, again, spoilers, but I did add a couple more tags so please keep that in mind.

“You’re blonde and pale, can you please steer away from anything other than mustard? Yellow is the ugliest color, I swear,” Tetsurou huffs. Blond Beam stands in front of his open closet with a hand on his hip, the other holding a hanger. “You’ll never make friends wearing that color. This is why you’re a loner.”

They’ve been here a while. Tetsurou says ‘ _we_ ’ because—even if Blondie over there isn’t really aware of it—they are both in the room and involved in the same activity, so technically they’re hanging out. As uncaring as he might seem, All Leg has gone through maybe a third of his clothes trying to pick an outfit for what Tetsurou assumes is his first day of college.

He does so neatly, pulling out and laying them out on the bed along with black denim and socks that have turtles on them.

Turtle socks.

Turtle. Socks.

It took Tetsurou a while to move past that in particular. He wants to wear turtle socks.

The latest item Legolas pulls out is this yellow flannel, and out of all the things that anyone in any corner of the universe should wear, yellow flannel is not it. “People who wear yellow are probably sociopaths or psychopaths or whatever is it that murder people, and you know why? Because they wear yellow.”

Yellow Monster glares at the shirt with intensity before sighing and putting it back. Tetsurou applauds. “Seen the error of your ways? The universe thanks you.”

Thranduil yanks a grey sweater and uses his pointy elbows to jam it on. Denim comes next, along with those turtle socks—and god, Tetsurou is going to have to find a way to steal them and wear those socks on his ghost feet—before the phone laying on the bed lights up in alarm.

Slenderman goes to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, Tetsurou trailing after him. He fidgets with his clothes, straightening non-existing wrinkles. “Nervous, huh? You’re hot enough, you’ll be fine.”

Chocobo moves on to fiddle with his hair, face going pink with agitation until he’s interrupted by a second alarm coming from the bedroom. Skinny Marilyn Monroe ( and that’s a reach so maybe it’s time Tetsurou quits the nicknames. He doesn’t need them anymore, so it’s time to say goodbye) makes a beeline for his boots by the foot the bed before marching down the living room, grabbing his bag along the way.

He’s already had breakfast, and double checked that the bag has everything he needs. Tsukki is an early riser which is nice, it means Tetsurou is left alone to entertain himself less. When he reaches for the doorknob Tetsurou settles on the couch, television cracking to life. “Have a nice day, don’t be a creep and sit in the back alone without talking to anyone and become that kid with no friends that no one would notice if they went missing!”

The door slams behind him.

“They grow up so fast,” Tetsurou mutters, wiping an imaginary tear.

* * *

 It’s around mid-morning and Tetsurou is bored out of his mind. A lot of being dead is floating around doing nothing, waiting for things to happen. He knows he’s hit a new low when Maurice from the apartment downstairs starts his regular shower show, belting out show tunes and pop hits that go above and beyond the hiss of the shower and whatever the walls in the building are made of, and Tetsurou sighs in content that something is happening.

Perched on the window, there’s nothing but an overcast sky and Maurice’s janky voice filtering in. He’ll go on singing for at least the next hour, way past when the shower’s been shut off, or until the old lady from across the hall yells at him to shut up.

Everything playing on in the t.v is a rerun Tetsurou has seen at least thrice, so he sits there, making the curtain sway with a swing of his finger.

He lasts an hour before he has to do something. Anything. The Old Lady from Across the Hall—Tetsurou doesn’t know her name, the only reason he knows Maurice is named Maurice is because of the lady yelling it at him every other day, and while he could try and find out, leaving the apartment leaves him feeling strange and staticky like his tongue is made out of vibrating white noise—shut the concerto down twenty minutes in, leaving Tetsurou bereft of any entertainment.

He doesn’t know when Tsukki will return but he hopes it’s soon. Maybe Tetsurou can try to scare him again and redeem himself for the previous six times it hasn’t worked.

* * *

 Living with Tsukki is nice. That’s what Tetsurou calls him. Tsukishima seems a little too distant now that they’re basically sharing an apartment, but Kei seems too informal when they haven’t had a proper conversation, y’know? Tetsurou sticks with Tsukki when his marvelous nicknaming skills fall short.

(Maybe his skills fall short more often than not but no one being around to see your fails and embarrassments is a perk of being not alive.)

It’s been a couple of weeks now, enough for him and Tetsurou to have established some sort of routine. Tsukki goes to class, loiters or whatever, comes back and keeps to himself until it’s time for dinner and the kitchen becomes his domain.

In the most superficial of ways, that boy does not belong in the same group as all the previous tenants. He’s organized and quiet. He likes to read. Two of the boxes were mostly books, now laying around the apartment against corners with the lack of a bookshelf.

He reads books bigger than Tetsurou’s head, putting them down faster and faster.  

Keeps the apartment clean. Doesn’t let dishes pile up, takes out the trash on time. He _cooks._ Really cooks, chops and dices and does that fancy prep thing with a French name cooking shows always talk about.  He’s the picture of a normal, level-headed dude.

At first glance.

What Tetsurou wants to know is who let this kid live by himself.

Who used to share a house with him and looked at him, fully knowing how his living habits are and said _yeah, sure, go on._

The dude sees the t.v on after he shut everything off? Doesn’t blink.

Tetsurou forgets he’s not alone in the apartment because the dude is super quiet and maybe starts picking shit up and slamming it back down when he’s bored out of his mind? Doesn’t come to check what the noises are.

Walks in when Tetsurou is lifting shit in the air? Like nothing’s happening.

Leaves the door unlocked at night.

Doesn’t check that the windows are closed.

Goes to sleep with wet hair. Do you know how terrible that is? He could stretch or pull on the hair shaft and destroy those beautiful, blond locks with breakage and—

He forgets to turn on the heater until he wakes up at three in the morning, freezing to death.

Where is his head?

That boy is going to catch pneumonia and get fucking murdered. 

* * *

 Tetsurou gets his answer a couple of days later.

Tsukki is being weird. While he’s in no way a slob of any kind, and Tetsurou is eternally grateful about that, he’s not a neat freak either. There’s a healthy amount of cleaning and organizing going on in their apartment in general but today’s Tsukki gone off the rails. He’s been cleaning and dusting and moving stuff around all over for about an hour already, no sign of stopping in sight.

If the calendar Tsukki has taped to the wall by the window is right then today’s Sunday, the day of the Lord, and Tsukki spent the last 36 hours vegging out and reading this massive ass book until his alarm interrupted him early this morning. It’s what Tsukki does, he sets alarms for everything. Every little thing has an alarm, then two follow-ups.

There’s one for waking up, for when he has to shower, for when he has to leave. Tetsurou’s gotten pretty used to having some Marimba No.5 or whatever start playing in the background, shorty followed by Tsukki pacing. 

The last alarm went off about thirty minutes ago but Tsukki paid it no mind, he kept moving and sweeping, and the windows—

He’s scrubbing their kitchen counter (again) with viciousness when the doorbell rings.

Tsukki responds to it the same way a dog perking his ears would, head snapping up to stare at the door with a tilted head. His glasses are askew and sliding down the bridge of his nose, Tsukki standing still. He tries pushing it back with his forearm since he’s wearing gloves, wet and sudsy from the soapy water he’s using to clean, but all he accomplishes is plastering a strand of his hair to his forehead and Tetsurou laughs. It bursts out of him, short and wheezing.

There’s just no explanation for whatever the hell is going on.

Tsukki dumps the sponge in the sink with a throw, gloves snapping off, and braces himself with a breath before heading to the door.

No sooner Tsukki opens it than he’s being crushed against a strangers chest. There’s a small _oof_ from Tsukki but no attempt to break free of the embrace. Tetsurou is immediately hooked. He needs to know who this is. Its obvious Tsukki has been expecting them and the barrage of cleaning is finally explained.

Tetsurou floats over, hand on his chin, to take a closer look. There’s a Tsukishima in the doorway. So much is obvious by the height and frame, confirmed by blond locks the same shade as Tsukki’s. He hugs Tsukki with enthusiasm, hands encompassing him tightly. One of the hands on his back barely moves, laying a tad awkwardly and it takes Tetsurou a couple of seconds to recognize it as a prosthetic.

After one last squeeze, Tsukki pulls away softly.

The other Tsukishima is smiling and happy, hand curling around the top of  Tsukki’s arm. “Kei! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, did you settle in okay?” His face falls minutely before he continues, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it, they sprung a late meeting with some investors that were visiting on us and I couldn’t slip out.”

“I told you it was alright already,” Tsukki rolls his eyes, stepping back. “Are you going to come in or are you planning on loitering around my entryway forever?”

“Shoot!” The other Tsukishima peels off with a laugh. They shuffle in, some of the tension that has been plaguing Tsukki's shoulders having melted in their embrace. It's the first time Tsukki's had anyone over in the short period of time he's been an official resident of the Ghostcrib™. Hell, it's the first time Tetsurou has seen him interact with something that's not made out of paper and ink.

Tsukki is a nerd that reads a lot is what he's trying to say.

The other Tsukishima takes off his coat and lays it on the back of the couch, then does that weird half-sit on the edge of it. He's taking a look around, eyes roaming over the still damp counter, the door to the bedroom, the window that's Tsukki's left open again. Weirdly, he frowns when he reaches the area where Tetsurou is floating.

Tetsurou slowly leans back, wary.

The moment doesn’t last long, brown eyes moving along with a tad of apprehension still in them and Tetsurou takes a deep metaphorical breath of relief. Some people are sensitive to things like Tetsurou. It’s happened before, mostly with people coming in to see the place when it’s in-between tenants. They walk in and start to look around, trying to figure out why the place feels off. Some take one step in and immediately back out, unnerved, but this is the first time he’s seen someone accurately pinpoint his location.

Good for the other Tsukishima, he has a good head on his shoulders unlike the clueless, oblivious mess Tsukki’s proven himself to be.

Older Tsukki’s eyes land on the pile of books stacked neatly in the corner and smiles, pleasant even when his eyes dart back to the stain on the wall next to Tetsurou every so often. Tsukki's been quiet the whole time, kind of zoning out and he's startled by Mr.Smiles voice when he speaks up. “Are you sure you’re done, is there anything I can help with?”

Tsukki rolls his eyes again. There’s a pattern here. “Aki, it’s been three weeks.”

 _Aki, huh?_ So this is Tsukki’s someone. He’s too young to be his father, so either a brother or a cousin of some sort.

Look at him, deducing shit. Tetsurou could be a detective if he wanted. And if he wasn’t dead.

Aki shakes his head, taking Tsukki’s antics at face value. “How has is it been, living on your own?”

“It’s been okay,” Tsukki shrugs.

Now it’s Tetsurou’s turn to laugh. “Sure, it’s been okay. Just fine. Leaving the door unlocked for anyone to break in and not noticing you’re sharing a living space with the literal undead. It must be nice to take things so easy,” Tetsurou mutters, eyebrows wiggling when Aki tries to sneak a glance in his direction again.  

Aki nods. “That’s good. I can still ask for a transfer, you know. We could room together…”

“Absolutely not,” Tsukki straightens up, “stay exactly where you are.”

“Alright,” Akiteru laughs putting his hands up in a sign of peace. Is he always this peppy? “Are you ready?”At Tsukki’s blank stare he elaborates, “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“But I was going to cook—”

“Kei, live a little. I couldn’t be here to help you move in so I’m buying you dinner to help ease my conscience.”

“Fine,” Tsukki relents, fakely put out. No one’s put out by free food, not even book-munching nerds. “Let me change into something else. I didn’t think we were going out.”

Tsukki trods over to the room, the door closing with a click.

The change is immediate.

Aki’s relaxed posture stiffens. He starts walking around the room, trying to figure it out. Tetsurou’s sorry, he really is. He doesn’t mean to make people uncomfortable. It’s funny as shit watching them walk with their head whipping around as if the chick from the ring is about to pop out at any second but he doesn’t _mean_ to.

Aki seems like a nice enough guy, so Tetsurou is going to leave and hang in Tsukki’s room for a while. He’s not even started to float his ghostly behind to the bedroom when Aki is blocking his way, hands on his hip and staring at the curtain behind him. Tetsurou swerves to the side, eyes wide.

What the hell?

This has never happened before.

Aki waves his hand right next to Tetsurou’s arm, eyes narrowed. Extra brownie points for accuracy but Tetsurou would enjoy not being almost smacked. Humans touching him feels icky.

If he really wants to scare someone Tetsurou just runs right through them. It feels like garbage to him but both times he’s done it the person stands there, horrified and catatonic until something snaps them out of it and they run away.

Instead, he topples one of the books by the corner with force, the sharp thud when it falls catching Aki unaware and making him jump about a foot in the air.

It gets a grin out of him. At least one Tsukishima can be spooked.

Aki seems to be going for another try when Tsukki comes back in the room, looking sharp and effectively diffusing Aki’s attempts at playing ghostbuster. Tetsurou whistles, dropping whatshisface and that entire situation in favor of trailing after Going Out Tsukki. He’s wearing a navy crew neck sweater and cuffed up blue denim, topped by an olive pea coat and Tetsurou is here for it. “Oooh, you look good.”  

Tsukki is more of a comfort dresser than whatever this is but Tetsurou is not going to fight it. Tsukki should dress like this always. “I wish I could style your hair,” Tetsurou sighs.

Smart Casual does have wonderful hair, and if Tetsurou could style those soft curls with a little bit of a pomade, maybe something sleek and a little to the side—

Hold that thought.

Tsukki’s wearing squirrel socks. Light green squirrel socks with fluffy tails and acorns. Tetsurou halts and points to them,“There are so many questions and so little answers.”

* * *

Tsukki takes a while to come back from his dinner date, but when he does Tetsurou manages to catch the end-tail of his and Aki’s conversation before Tsukki is carefully shutting the door on him and power walking to his room.

* * *

 If Tetsurou could sleep, he’d be having a hard time getting some shut-eye right about now.

The night is quiet, rays of silver and blue lighting the room where Tsukki sleeps, feet tangled in the sheets. He kicks around in his sleep, surprisingly.

Before you judge him on being a creepazoid and looking at Tsukki sleeping, Tetsurou would like to submit some evidence to the court of why he is not. He’s not sitting there in a corner watching Tsukki sleep and mumbling to himself like he’s the lead in a cold open of an SVU episode. Tetsurou’s restless, head going a mile an hour, and the soft sound of Tsukki snoring helps him think. 

There’s something about Aki’s parting words earlier that week that keep throwing Tetsurou for a loop.

> _“Kei, there’s something weird about this place.”_
> 
> _“What do you mean weird?”_
> 
> _“I don’t know, I just feel iffy about it! I still think I should request that transfer.”_
> 
> _“Aki, don’t. We’ve been over this, you’re not transferring.”_
> 
> _“I don’t want you living here by yourself, or at all. Just think it over, okay?”_

He—

He doesn't want Tsukki to move. Not yet.

Tsukki is the least annoying person to live in this apartment, and Tetsurou is including himself because _oh boy_ , Tetsurou has probably always been a handful.

Not to get absolutely real for a second here but the reality of being a ghost is monotonously dull and sad at its worst. And boring. God, is it boring. Tetsurou would willingly watch paint dry some days.

Having someone new move-in is fun. You get to see what makes them tick, what they like to do in their spare time. How you act when you think no one is looking is the truest version of you, unafraid and free of expectations. Tetsurou’s seen the truest version of a bunch of people, and while Tsukki isn’t the most fun person around, he’s decent. Sometimes he starts to hum out of the blue, the soft sound filling the walls of the apartment and breaking that oppressive silence Tetsurou’s come to accept as his reality.

He doesn’t immediately seek to shut off the strange voices filtering in from the living room when Tetsurou’s tired of listening to his own head and makes the screen flicker on just because. Tsukki lets them run through the night and while that’s maybe not the best habit—or aiding his utility bill—it’s nice to room with someone who doesn’t mind.

Someone who doesn’t spook easy (or at all.)  

Someone who’s a little careless.

Someone Tetsurou can exist around.

* * *

 Tetsurou’s taken to picking up the slack.

It’s not the most genius plan or anything, but if Tsukki is a little more comfortable here, he won’t wanna move. Also, those tiny details drive Tetsurou crazy so it’s a win-win.

He closes windows at night, uncaring if they slam down because it’s not like Head in the Clouds over there is going to check what the noise is anyway. Turns on the heater at night. Locks the door, randomly puts a towel on the bed when Tsukki is taking a shower before bed.

He’s got it down.

It becomes so normal that he starts not waiting until Tsukki is out of the room. Sees him pull out a hoodie and turns on the heating. Closes the window when Tsukki is reading on the beat-up couch and Tetsurou sees him shiver.

Another week passes. Two.

It’s almost the end of month three when it hits him. He got a teensy bit distracted by his novela and started floating a towel on the bed with Tsukki already sitting there.

He’s making a towel float. In plain sight.

Tsukki’s playing on his phone, rivulets of water dripping down his neck and staining the collar of the t-shirt he wears a darker shade of green,  but even the most clueless person on the planet would notice if a towel with pink flowers suddenly happens to appear out of thin air.

Tetsurou hasn’t been discreet.

Tsukki _probably_ knows the place is haunted.

No matter how oblivious a person might be, there’s no other way to interpret the situation.

This is it. All or nothing.

Tetsurou leaves the towel on Tsukki’s bent knees slowly and does nothing else. He stands by the end of the bed with (an emotional) baited breath. This could backfire in the worst ways and just like that Tetsurou’s days of peace will be gone—

“Thanks.”

Tetsurou chokes on nothing. Tsukki’s grabbed the towel and is now rubbing it on his hair in small circles which is so so bad for it, you have to pat—no matter that, Tsukki thanked him.

He.

He’s still in the same position on the bed, face buried on his phone, but Tetsurou did not imagine that. Tsukki _thanked_ him.

No one’s ever thanked him for doing ghost things before. They freak out or look around to see if it’s a prank but he’s never been thanked. Granted, Tetsurou hasn’t ever used his spooky powers for useful things before, but that’s not the point.

Tetsurou’s chest swells, warm and dopey and good, syrupy giddiness holding him to rock on the spot where he hovers. He can’t remember the last time someone addressed him.

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

 Things change after that.

Tetsurou’s presence, as open as it was before, becomes exceedingly obvious. He tries to tone it down a little, lest Tsukki freaks out after the fact, but life is good right now.

Things carry on the same in the way that Tsukki doesn’t care. Tetsurou’s free to do as he pleases without having to deal with a bunch of shrieking morons, calls to Karen, and that one time someone brought an exorcist to try and kick him out.

It was some dude baked out of his mind chanting some weird thing or the other scamming the one tenant out of fifty bucks so Tetsurou was all clear on that one, but what a waste of an afternoon.

* * *

 “I can’t believe you even own those pants. Who has access to corduroy anymore? Next.”

Tetsurou floats upside down above the bed, Tsukki’s earbuds hovering with him by grace of his wiggling fingertips. Tsukki has study group today, or at least that what his phone said when Tetsurou looked.

They’re doing their usual bit, Tsukki trying to get dressed and Tetsurou stopping him from committing a fashion crime and melting someone’s eyeballs off. Sweatpants are off, Tsukki is in his underwear and Tetsurou keeps floating shirts away and towards him in a twisted version of dress-up.

The angle lets Tetsurou ogle Tsukki’s back, particularly that row of four moles just at the edge of his ribcage that’s kept Tetsurou’s attention since he floated up there. “I’ll give you seven million dollars if you have ever worn those pleather pants more than once. Outside. Where people can see you.”

Tsukki hangs his head in defeat when Tetsurou pulls another garment away from him. They come to an agreement, some black joggers—because Tetsurou can compromise— and a white shirt with a grey hoodie on top.

Tetsurou picks out the socks though, and the Pikachu ones are calling his name. Tsukki’s alarm goes off again, and Tetsurou glides across the living room to the door automatically. Tsukki grabs his stuff and stops by the shoe rack.

“Those shoes? With that outfit? No.” Tetsurou knocks the right pair into shins.

* * *

 Ghosts don’t have a lot of base needs.

They don’t eat. They don’t breathe. Thirst is only of the metaphorical kind. Tetsurou doesn’t get horny. He gets restless. And bored. What do people do when they get bored?

They play with their bits.

It’s a slow build up. Tetsurou doesn’t do it often seeing as ghost climax is akin to setting an exposed wire on your tongue. It’s not the rapid firing of nerves that curls toes and jerks hips, nothing like that wave of pleasure that whites out vision and leaves you dumb and lax while you bask.

It’s energy vibrating, rapid explosions and waves, being electrocuted until you’re left phasing in and out of existence for a bit. Tetsurou is still not sure how he feels about it, but he does it anyway because it beats doing nothing and having his head replay that one Rihanna song Maurice was singing three days ago one more time.

Having some visual aid doesn’t help his case either.

Kei—Tetsurou calls him Kei now, seeing as they’ve had at least one conversation if by a conversation a _‘Thank you’_ and ‘ _You’re welcome_ ’ is accepted—is out of the shower and walking around half-naked. It’s his usual routine, Tsukki usually comes out of the bathroom fresh-faced and with a clean pair of undies on. Sometimes with socks (each and every pair more adorable than the last).

Tetsurou would be lying if he said that peek of skin every day didn’t intrigue him. That it didn’t make him curious. But, Tetsurou has boundaries and he’s not about to burst in on one of Tsukki’s showers so he can see how far the birthmark low on Tsukki hip extends.

Usually, that glimpse of skin isn’t enough to motivate him.

Today Tetsurou is restless. He’s bored.

Tsukki’s been out all week doing a thing or another so he’s been left to stew in the apartment all by himself with only Maurice and Federico for company, and then Kei forgets his underwear when he goes in to take a shower so Tetsurou gets enough to kick him into gear.

Kei is hot.

He really is, that’s fact.

Tetsurou has enough time to respectfully ogle him from where he’s flat against the wall above the closet and today is the day. Sticking a hand down his pants is odd. Clothes don’t feel like clothes, they feel like layers. Peeling back a thin sheet of the universe.

Tetsurou sends a quick apology Kei’s way for using him as part of the spank bank, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Tetsurou’s going to have some private alone time. Not that all time isn’t private alone time because, you know, he’s dea—

“You do know I can see you, right?” Tetsurou’s head whips up, and sure enough, there’s Tsukki staring not at his vicinity or whatever might be behind him, but right _directly at him_ in nothing but his undies and baby blue cloud socks and Tetsurou can feel himself shrivel under the intensity of that glare.

Tsukki’s mouth twists. “You disgusting little man.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life is a little hectic so there is no update schedule, but this story already has an ending so it's not going to get abandoned. 
> 
> Fun fact, Tsukki would usually just throw on anything and go but Kuroo mentions something and he can't leave it alone after someone points it out. I don't know why Kuroo hates yellow, I don't. 
> 
> Let me know what you think <3  
> You can come yell at me on:  
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/ivyfics)  
> [Tumblr ](http://ivyfics.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [ inspo for Tsukki's outfit ](https://lookastic.com/men/looks/olive-pea-coat-navy-crew-neck-sweater-blue-jeans/370)


	3. Please get out of my room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One second he’s ready to do the ghost version of flinging a toaster into a bathtub and the next he’s flinching, yelping out an enraged, “Hey, nothing here is _little!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I arise from the ashes with a new chap. 
> 
> Chapter 3 was getting a little too long so I split it into two. That means there’s an extra chapter in the final count, but I feel like me going over and having to add a chap will happen again so that number is subject to change. Hopefully, chapter 4 will be done sooner than this one but life has been hectic and a bunch of new projects popped up, so no promises!
> 
> Also, the only not real novela here is Las rosas del desierto.

He’s not quite sure how or why the things that happen next happen the way they do. There’s a disconnect between what the situation really is, how Tetsurou should maybe react to it, and what he ends up doing. 

One second he’s ready to do the ghost version of flinging a toaster into a bathtub and the next he’s flinching, yelping out an enraged, “Hey, nothing here is  _ little!” _

Kei glares at him harder and tilts his head back to also be looking down his chin at him. It’s not an expression Tetsurou’s seen on him other than when trash day comes around, the comparison making him want to squirm where he floats.

_ "Pathetic." _

Tetsurou climbs down from the wall, coming in as close as he can to Kei. There are four hundred separate trains of thought running around his head. The loudest and most pressing one wins mouth rights, spraying out with a high pitched squeal of,  _ "Pathe _ —You weren't supposed to know!"

After that visceral reaction purges most of his agitation, two things come to Tetsurou’s mind. One, his hand is still stuck between the energetic representation of the running shorts he was wearing when he keeled over—and what a fate that is, to not only have to die in unwashed, borrowed running shorts but also have them become one of the only two articles of clothing to represent him forever. Tetsurou is damned to an eternity  _ barefoot _ —and two, Kei can see him.

Kei, the bookish, quiet, tall nerd that lives in this apartment,  _ Tetsurou’s _ apartment, and who Tetsurou was, in the most basic of definitions, spying on to the point of voyeuristic enjoyment, can see him.  

Let’s back up a step, do a timeline of how he got here:  
  


  * Death.  
  

  * Panic.  
  

  * Ghost.  
  

  * Panic.  
  

  * Acceptance.  
  

  * Chilling.  
  

  * Watching _Betty, La fea_ for the first time.  
  

  * Almost making Mrs.Smith have a heart attack.  
  

  * Rewatching _Pasión de Gavilanes._  
  

__
  * Accidentally triggering Mrs.Smith’s stroke.  
  

  * Seven tenants.  
  

  * Haunted Teddy bear.  
  

  * That one asshole he locked out whose name he never learned because every single one of his friends was always stoned out of their mind and only called each other dude.  
  

  * Watching _Ugly Betty_ for the first time.  
  

  * Tsukki moving in.  
  

  * _Las Rosas del Desierto_ premiere.  
  

  * Trying to beat his metaphorical meat in the same room as Kei.  
  

  * Getting caught trying to beat his metaphorical meat in the same room as Kei.  
  

  * Kei can see him.



__

Not only can Kei see him, Kei can talk to him.

There, where he stands in front of Tetsurou with his arms on his waist and nothing but those cloud socks and a pointed glare, Kei licks his teeth at him. "Well? Are you going to try and defend yourself or are you just going to stand there and gape at me?"

"You can see me," Tetsurou parrots. 

Kei rolls his eyes and  _ holy shit it’s so real _ , "Yes, I thought—"

"You can see me, and you can hear me," Tetsurou repeats, dumbfounded. He shakes himself out of it when his brain gets to the part where Kei is not, let’s say, freaking out, his voice going high as it can, "Wait, have you been able to do that all this time? Since the beginning?"

Kei huffs, still mad, “Yeah.” 

Tetsurou yanks his hands from under his shorts with viciousness, feeling the layers snap back into place along with his outrage and yells, "Why didn't you say anything?!"

For a long moment, there’s nothing between them but the racking cough of whoever lives in the apartment above them. They’re coughing up a lung, clearing their throat and making wet sounds no human being should be able to do, much less with their mouth-related pieces. It stops, and Kei opens his own mouth-related pieces to offer Tetsurou what better be the explanation of a century when another bout of lung-expulsion commences. 

With the tiniest curve of his lip Kei’s lips seal shut again, politely waiting for the noise to die down. 

Infuriatingly well-mannered little prick. 

When the air is devoid of icky sounds, Kei simply shrugs. 

"Seemed like a hassle."

He can’t believe this. It doesn’t compute. Tetsurou sounds the words out, trying to make any sense of them and the person standing in front of him. "Telling the ghost that's haunting your apartment that you can see him seemed like a hassle."

Kei nods at him like this is a completely normal situation for either of them to be in, “See, you get it."

And Tetsurou, in that very moment, gets it. Boy, does he get it. Not unlike the vehicle that killed him, he’s hit by just how much he fucking gets it. 

There’s no scoreboard. 

He was never meant to win. 

Tsukishima Kei is a god amongst men, mortal or otherwise, alive and dead, and Tetsurou always stood exactly zero chance to ever win in every dimension unfolding from their irrelevant, unimportant point in time and space. 

He’s rudely—offensively interrupted by Kei’s alarm filtering through his back pocket from continuing to stand and stare and do absolutely nothing else other than basking in the full understanding of the last three months of his not-life. Kei is unaffected, as usual, while the current of white noise always in the back of Tetsurou’s head swells until he can  _ see  _ it.

Usually, this is the part where Tetsurou walks him to the door, makes a comment or two, wishes him a nice day while asking Kei to please not be weird when outside of this apartment. Today, he’s rooted to the beige carpet he can’t feel while his fake brain implodes at the knowledge that Kei has heard every single farewell, every single comment, including ‘ _ and your ass looks incredible today so don’t just sit somewhere and read, walk around, do a good deed and let the people see the goods!’ _

Kei gets dressed in something, he guesses. Tetsurou never thought he’d say this, but Kei’s wardrobe is the last thing on his priority list right now. 

"I have to go. Whatever you were going to do just," Kei’s hand flings randomly as he grips the brassy doorknob, "don't do it in my room."

The door shuts with a click, caramel colored wood mocking Tetsurou silently. He’s still minutely floating above the same spot when not ten seconds later, it opens again and Kei peeks from the side. 

Tetsurou hopes with whatever might be left of his soul that Kei is merciful with whatever comes out of his mouth. 

“One more thing. What’s your name?”  


* * *

The ceiling hasn’t changed in the past hour that Tetsurou has stared at it. The cracks running through it are the same no matter how many times his eyes run through the branching paths, the stains from when the apartment above them had a leak remain just as faded brown as they’ve always been. Circular and brown, oval and green, opaque and not, they look down on the previous three months and lay witness to Tetsurou’s plight.  

Embarrassment and something that comes close to what must be shame are still flowing through him, foreign and uncomfortable. They spike with every passing memory of something he’s done since Kei has been living in the apartment that was not meant to exist in the presence of others. Fleeting snippets of conversations meant only for himself thrown in the air, snapshots of inappropriate comments. They leave him charged to the point where he feels bubbly and partly phasing through the couch. His leg sinks in and blends with the navy fabric, making him flinch and pull back out only to have to go through the same thing over again forty seconds later. 

Tetsurou is a big ‘ol messy  _ glitch. _

It’s...not great. 

Emotions when you’re an entity are this weird convoluted energy thing that Tetsurou has not a lot of experience with; so much is obvious by how he’s handling the ghost version of a blush. The only constant a ghostly tenure provides is the fact that you’re alone to do whatever the fuck you want to do (within certain boundaries he’s not going to get into because they’re not relevant right now), and not have to tell anyone about them. Up to an hour ago, he didn’t think he  _ could _ tell anyone about them lest there was some sort of seancé or Tetsurou got really creative with lipstick. 

There’s the first time he tried to go through the wall and bounced back so hard he and his overly charged body shattered a mirror. Or the first time the tried to turn on an electronic device and promptly fried the whole thing. Both of those things ended up with people moving out and him learning the ins-and-outs of being a baby ghost, but there wasn’t anyone to see him be a complete loser. 

Kei changes the rules of the game completely. 

When he first woke up here—in the messy, unkempt version of this place he first saw—there was nothing to do, nothing to be. He was a mass of unending open nerves, fizzing and crawling over every line, thread, and current of open energy. The transition from body to no-body is not so much violent as it is sudden. It leaves you reeling and relearning how to be now that you aren’t.   

Also a lot violent, if he’s being honest. 

Imagine you’ve been a fork all your life, then suddenly you’re a stress ball. Not the most poetic of examples but it’s accurate enough. 

Terrifying. 

Becoming a ghost isn’t as glamorous as the media portrays it. It’s a lot of isolation, confusion, and fear before you get a grasp on what’s possible. When, after painstaking trial and error, Tetsurou became Tetsurou he spent hours and hours doing nothing but saying his name out loud. 

_ My name is Kuroo Tetsurou and I am—was human, I lived with Bokuto and Kenma, and Bokuto’s parrot Captain, my mom’s name is— _

Over and over until it lost meaning. Until words became nothing but monotone, meaningless gibberish in a world made up of one. 

_ Kuroo Tetsurou?  _

_ Okay, Kuroo. I’ll be back at six. Please get out of my room.  _

_ Tetsurou? _

_ Kuroo. Tetsurou. _

_ Okay, Kuroo _

_ Okay. Kuroo. _

_ Kuroo. _

A wave swallows him whole, hands vibrating in and out of being, and leaves him shivering in a mess on the floor. He phased right through the couch and half into the floor. Tetsurou stares at the worn springs that live inside the guts of their couch and does nothing but think of how his name sounds coming from someone else's mouth. Then, he thinks of whose mouth that is and the sparks come back, excitement instead of embarrassment this time around. 

He has so many questions.  


* * *

Kei, true to his word, comes back home at almost six on the dot. Blinking red light from the clock on Tsukki’s nightstand shows a square 6:02. Light still streams from the living-room window, it’s rays strong and orange but fading into gray as the afternoon sun starts its descent. Tetsurou’s had a lot of time of time to think about what happens next. 

Kei already knew the apartment was haunted when he moved in—something Tetsurou still has a hard time wrapping his head around because what the hell kind of sane person moves-in to a place that’s haunted?  _ Willingly _ .  _ Proactively _ . Kei is literally paying money to sleep with a ghost—so Tetsurou being around isn’t an issue that’s going to trigger a melting panic-attack and make Kei leave. Kei is pretty cozy shacking up with the undead. 

(Tetsurou has always wondered if that’s a correct term, or if it only applies to beings of the corporeal variety: zombies, vampires, so on and so forth.) 

Tetsurou isn’t sure how he feels about  _ that—  _ the whole _ Kei mostly seems to like the arrangement  _ thing _ — _ in particular, but he’s been actively avoiding thinking about it since he accidentally put half his form in the wall between the bathroom and the kitchen. The inside of his not-mouth still tastes like dead.

The click from the door alerts him from where he  _ “lays” _ on Kei’s bed. He chose to lounge there and not on the couch simply out of defiance. Tetsurou vanishes from his spot on the bed, sinking into the line that runs by the whole of the apartment and popping out in front of Kei, who instead of jumping like Tetsurou hoped he would just stare at him impassively. 

Kei wears one of his favorite outfits, a mix of his and Tetsurou’s invention, created when Kei pulled out a pair of old sweats and was genuinely planning on leaving the house wearing them. Kuroo might have yanked them out of his hand and almost made him trip. Along with that memory resurfaces a jab of the glitchy feeling, the line he’s riding spiking in brightness before returning to a steady hum around him. 

Tetsurou wants to make him look presentable outside and Kei likes to be comfortable. That outfit is the perfect compromise. The pants he wears are the fancy version of sweats, black and wooly. Tetsurou didn’t think a single person could own so many pairs of joggers instead of actual pants but surprises with Kei never end. He has black and white canvas shoes, along with his white, black, and maroon  _ “Me? Sarcastic? Never”  _ hoodie. 

He looks good, like he always does when Tetsurou intervenes, but that is not what he cares about right now. Later. 

Tetsurou minutely glitches again before he starts talking, “Oh, hey, hi roomie, glad you’re here, let’s talk about you, and wow, you can see me and I can see that you are not ignoring me anymore so I was wondering if we could talk about that because that's, like, super fucking weird, and how can you do it? Are you a psychic? Oh shit, are you like, a medium? Like that lady with the short blonde hair? _ Ohmygodisitablondething—” _

Kei’s nose scrunches up as he takes a step back, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth in distaste. “Jesus lord dude, calm the dick down,” he swats at Tetsurou before bypassing him completely and walking to the couch. He pulls the strap of his crossbody book bag over his head and drops it on the corner of the couch. “At least let me settle in.” 

Tetsurou skinks back in the line to appear in front of Kei. “I can’t calm down! This is, this is—it’s! It is!” 

“ _ Tch, _ fine! If I answer your questions, will you stop popping up out of nowhere?”

“No! Yes!”

“Okay.” Kei sighs. “What do you want to know?”

Tetsurou flounders for a bit, trying to contain his excitement. “Can your whole family see ghosts? Is it like, hereditary or something?”

Kei sinks next to his bag. “No. Just me. My brother only gets a weird feeling.”

“Oh. You, ugh—” Tetsurou’s hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck—“saw that, didn’t you?” 

“I did. Your face was priceless.”

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to be swatted at.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t expect, apparently.”

Embarrassment at this morning flows through him again. It catches him off guard and breaks through that fizzy feeling of having someone respond when he talks to them. There’s so much he wants to know but the blonde looks really uncomfortable, avoiding Tetsurou’s eyes as much as he can. Kei has gone from zero willing communication to being grilled in the span of 12 hours. 

And Tetsurou was a total creep. 

He clears his not-throat to catch Kei’s attention. 

“Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. It was a very creepy thing to do, I won’t do it again.” Tetsurou withholds the ' _ but I’m not used to having to interact with anyone anymore and being held responsible for my actions'  _  that threatens to follow because he’s not trying to justify making Kei uncomfortable in his own home. Pride fills him at the fact that he still knows how to apologize, followed by more shame at the fact that he has to.

Big day for Tetsurou’s emotions and growth. 

It’s been a big day for both of them. 

Kei is not going anywhere. Tetsurou can slowly suffocate Kei with his presence and learn all he wants to know in time. There is one last thing he’s dying to know right now. 

“One more question—It’s really stupid—What are you studying? No, that’s not—Why the hell did you move into an apartment with a ghost?”

Kei doesn’t hesitate. “Rent is really cheap.”

Tetsurou looks around the room. Yes, full rent on a place like this is pretty good. Yes, Tetsurou’s constant need to prove that he still exists in the form of uncaringly revealing himself to the tenants has probably driven down the price to the point where it’s a bargain, but at what cost? 

“But...ghost.”

“It's like having an alarm system, but you don’t have to pay for it.”

“Were you not worried about getting murdered? Or—or possessed?

”By who? You? No,” Kei chuckles.  

Tetsurou bristles, too amused for it to have any sort of heat. Kei’s relaxed a bit, shoulders not as tense.  “I could be a really bad ghost, like all  _ boo _ and shit. You’d have to go Ghostbusters on my ass.”

Feeling Tetsurou’s retreat for the dismissal that it is, Kei stands up, stretching lightly. After his bag is slung over his shoulder, he answers. “I know what a bad ghost feels like, if I had felt a bad ghost I would have gone somewhere else. Is that all?”

There’s a shred of normalcy about it all, Kei talking about ghost-this and ghost-that with a nonchalance that makes it seem as if this is actually an everyday thing. Just a dude and his ghost roommate, shooting the breeze. “You are so fucking weird,” he says because he might be dead but he knows weird when he sees it.

Kei yells in his direction before the door to his room clicks shut. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who watches television while hanging from the ceiling.”    


* * *

Later, Kei bursts in from his room, earphones dangling from his neck. He rushes over to where Tetsurou is watching  _ Las Rosas del Desierto  _ and slams his hands down on the dull padding of the couch with the most emotion Tetsurou has ever seen him manifest. 

Kei changed out of his clothes. He’s wearing the gray sweats that Tetsurou vetoed as going-out clothes and a green knit sweater two sizes too big that swallows his frame whole. A quick peek at his feet show matching snail socks. 

He looks bright-eyed, cozy, and unfairly cute. 

Tetsurou mutes the commercial for laundry soap right before Kei rushes out, “Did you die here? Is that why you’re haunting this place?”

Tetsurou is stunned, both by Kei's enthusiasm and the way he said that almost cheerfully, as if having his apartment be the scene of a gruesome murder (because that's how Tetsurou would die here) is the good answer. 

Kei continues, “Because if you got murdered here, rent could be even cheaper.”

It’s not what Tetsurou expects at all, laugh bursting out of him. Kei waits for him to finish his outburst with minute impatience showing in his twitching brow.  He files that for later and wipes an imaginary tear, Kei's excited face at his answer is making it hard for him to talk properly.

He considers lying, just a little white lie to keep Kei’s excitement going, but he settles for the truth. “No, I didn’t die here. The dude that did up my body when I died rented the place. He liked my necklace so he swiped it, and ta-da, here I am for eternity.”

Kei stares at him from behind his glasses, at a loss. “Then why are you still here? Couldn’t you just,” Kei waves around one of the hands previously on the arm of the couch, the green sleeve from his sweater flopping about, “get the necklace and go wherever.”

“The dude lost it.” Kei stares at him. Tetsurou gets it, he reacted the same way when it happened. That and rage-cracking the dude’s phone, the bathroom mirror, and the window. “He lost the necklace.”

Kei sputters, “But you’re still here!”

Tetsurou laughs again, less humor and more of something else that he doesn’t want to explore. “Fuck if I know, no one gives you the  _ So now you’re dead _ talk. Ghosting 101 is self-taught.”

“So no brutal murder?” Kei sounds disappointed, physically sagging where he's bent.

“Nah, sorry. But I bet if you tell Karen something is spooky here with a scary enough voice, she’ll give you a discount. Now  _ shhh, _ Victoria is about to fuck shit up.”

* * *

Ten minutes into his novela Tetsurou is hit with the fact that they had a normal conversation. Kei walked out and casually asked him (odd but expected) questions, told him to close the window and went back to his room when commercials ended. 

Like they’ve done it a hundred times before.  

He phases half through the couch and watches as the channels on the screen flip a mile a minute on their own when he realizes that, unknowing to him,  _ they have. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Look at Tsukki's sweater here](https://co.pinterest.com/pin/553872454166980679/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	4. How does a sheep wield a sword?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Tetsurou is not going to lie. Things are a little weird now.  
> If he is completely honest, it’s entirely coming from him. Kei has been normal. He’s followed all his routines, his life unchanged. It makes sense—Kei always knew he was living with a ghost. There were no surprises on his end.  
> The problem is Tetsurou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllooooooo. The last couple of months have been a rollercoaster, but I feel like I'm coming back a bit now. This is a late Tsukki Day update, so enjoy!

Alright, Tetsurou is not going to lie. Things are a little weird now.

If he is completely honest, it’s entirely coming from him. Kei has been normal. He’s followed all his routines, his life unchanged. It makes sense—Kei always knew he was living with a ghost. There were no surprises on his end.

The problem is Tetsurou. He can admit when he’s out of his depth and right now it’s like he’s treading the deeper end of a bottomless pool. He’s not used to actually having to live with someone instead of just...floating around them while they live their life. Being a commentator.

Uhm, singing at three in the morning when he needs to drown out everything else? Not happening, not when he knows that Kei can listen to him and that he has a full day tomorrow. No more slamming things against the walls because what kind of roommate would Tetsurou be if he did loud random shit in the middle of the night?

Tetsurou can’t act the same now that he knows there’s an audience watching. Not when the audience would probably like some space and privacy. To not have this weird undead creep following him around his apartment. Boundaries are important in every relationship, right?

He’s trying to find where those boundaries lie and it’s proving to be a little more complicated than he expected.

Last time he was an actual roommate things were a little different. His last roommates were not the usual. He was alive and they were a family, a big, happy family where food was fair game—even if licked—and people walked into the bathroom while you were showering for no good reason other than they wanted to have a chat.

There’s also the whole _‘I’ve been watching you live your life and commenting on the sidelines and you could hear all of it’_ awkwardness that makes him unsure of how _Tetsurou_ he can get with Kei before making it weird. Or if it’s already weird.

It’s _probably_ already weird.

It’s been around a week and some change since Kei called him out for being a creep. Instead of getting his rocks off, floating about like a headless chicken doing whatever he wants and invading on Kei’s personal life, he’s taken to—dare he say it—sulking and skulking about the house like a morose cat. Slinking from corner to corner without making a sound, turning his head to Kei’s comings and goings to make up for all previous nonsense spouted. It’s somehow worse than when previous tenants couldn’t see him. Lonelier. It eats at him, a little.

Tetsurou had it pretty good with Kei before he went and messed it up.

He contemplates this, among other things, when Kei walks into the room. He does so quietly, ready for the day. He wears the most ill-fitting, vomit-colored pants accompanied by a bright red shirt. Really bright. Too bright for whatever it is that clings to Kei’s beautiful legs. It’s paired with Christmas green socks with neon blue specks, and Tetsurou feels his hypothetical stomach lurch.

Beyond the bizarre color choices, Kei’s face is stone. It gives nothing away as he gathers his things around the room at an easy pace, parading his buffoon choices to the jury. Tetsurou is about to say something kind along the lines of _those pants make your ass look miniscule_ or _don’t underplay your ass-ets_ before he catches himself and closes his big, fat unsolicited mouth.

Bad Tetsurou.  
  
No more commenting on Kei’s body, no matter how incredibly awful a pair of pants is. Or how badly they clash with the shirt. And his socks.  
Please, not those shoes.

_For the love of anything holy, please—_

A fully dressed Kei stands still in the middle of the room. Tetsurou doesn’t dare open his mouth, afraid of what might come out. He stares, heavily. He stares and stares and stares, unable to look away or end it all with a few choice words.

Minutes pass, and he doesn’t comment. Kei looks at him angrily, does the most graceful and discreet stomp Tetsurou has ever seen.  The door slams after Kei and the outfit he’s inflicting on the world, loud in the wake of Tetsurou’s pursed-lip and all things he’s left unsaid.

* * *

Dawn slowly melts in, soaking every inch of the room a hazy gray. It won’t be long until the floorboards are shining gold, dust dancing up and down the beams of new sun. Tetsurou is unaffected by temperature. Being a ghost is permeated by a constant and permanent chill snaking up his spine. Still, he likes this time of the morning, unaware as he is to the drop in temperature before daylight warms people up enough to start their day.

Quiet reigns in this piece of time, enough for the clambering of the pipes to become a symphony and the rush of the wind against the glass a soft voice accompanying it.

It will break, soon, with Kei’s alarm. Until then, Tetsurou basks in it. Before, when he was utterly alone and unmoving in a world speeding by, this time of day was the worst. The last desperate stretch before he could listen and stare at people go about their day. Now, he can enjoy the silence of his own company with more ease. He loses himself in it, in the slow and steady gradient of light framed by the window, in the swaying branches of the tree just outside, and tries to remember.

“Good morning.”

Tetsurou forgets, for a moment, that someone talks to him now and he jumps. His form fizzes out for a second, glitching into the line that runs through the wall, before settling back. Kei is so fucking quiet for someone his size. It’s eerie, and it catches Tetsurou off guard.

“ _God fucking shit damn it_ ! Could you not sneak up on me!?” Tetsurou shrieks. “Make some noise, _I’m_ supposed to be the ghost here!”  
He clutches at his chest, a reflex from an earlier life, and tries to come to terms with the fact that besides testing his theory of ghost being unable of getting heart attacks, this means Kei is winning.

“Oh,” Kei’s icy voice says, “So you _can_ talk to me.”

The tone catches Tetsurou off-guard more than anything else. Hoarse, like Kei’s voice usually is in the morning, laced with something frigid and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised that I’m here and you haven’t vanished into thin air yet.” Kei nonchalantly leans against the frame of the bathroom door. “Or stared while saying absolutely nothing.”

Dread climbs Tetsurou’s back. “What.”

“You—” Kei points at him—“have been walking on eggshells around me.”

“I don’t walk anywhere,” Tetsurou points at his legs, at how he floats above the carpet, “I hover.”

Kei’s face scrunches up at Tetsurou’s lip, expression caught between a glare and a grimace. The glare wins out and Kei’s stomps to the edge of the couch. He grabs a cushion and throws it square at Tetsurou’s middle. “What is wrong with you?”

Kei throws it like he means it. Tetsurou feels all the force behind those skinny looking arms where his gut used to be. There’s the feeling of fabric, and foam and _weird_ rippling from his middle and climbing up his body.

”Just act like you usually do. Stop being weird.”

Tetsurou opens his mouth to protest but Kei is faster, grabbing another cushion and wagging it threateningly before his alarm goes off in his hand. ”I’m going to miss my class if I don’t get ready. Stop it,” he says, promptly drops the cushion and walks his behind to the bathroom, door clicking shut softly.

Tetsurou stands there, hovering. He hovers over the same spot, eyes fixated on the door until Kei comes out after an undetermined (That’s a lie, Kei takes an average of 24 minutes to get ready. Tetsurou has counted and done the math) amount of time later. His hair is slicked back, still wet and dripping onto his bare shoulders,  and there’s a towel tight around his waist.

He’s all cool and aloof when he says, “Have you stopped it?”

Just like that. Like he’s some sort of fancy lord in a period piece. Not only is it unexpected, Tetsurou feels kind of insulted. Patronized. As if he’s a child throwing a tantrum over something insignificant. “I was trying to be nice.”

There’s bite to it, and some poutyness—and he sounds exactly like a petulant toddler with advanced talking skills, great.

Kei levels eyes with him, saying nothing. It gives Tetsurou the heebie-jeebies. Kei is looking right through him, through whatever ectoplasm gives him shape. He nods, once and leaves. Tetsurou follows after Kei prompts him with a second glare.

Inside Kei’s bedroom—which Tetsurou has not hovered in once since ‘The Incident,’ might he add—there’s, as usual, clothes laid out on the bed. Kei pulls two shirts from the bed and holds them up. “Which one?”

Tetsurou doesn’t say anything, a teensy bit distracted by the way Kei’s arms look when the droplets from his shoulders run down his bicep and onto the bed.

Kei huffs, once, and rolls his eyes. “Which. One.”

It’s a peace offering. Veiled underneath horribly impaling couch cushions and aggression but there nonetheless, worry that Tetsurou is being _weird._ Kei’s life with a ghost trailing behind him and telling him what to wear is his normal, and Tetsurou is disrupting it by being dumb.

Maybe… it’s doable.

Tetsurou can do this.

“Obviously the red one. Step up your game. What coat are you wearing over that? If you say the blue one I will screech until your ears don’t exist anymore.”

* * *

The door clicks open at his back, Tetsurou’s attention snapping at the sound. He is too engrossed in a _How It’s Made_ marathon to feel Kei’s signature energy latch on to the web that runs through the apartment. It’s becoming familiar to him now, the outpour starting to blend in with the walls and the floor, the bed and the stove.

What’s new is that there isn’t an immediate feeling of otherness adding to the web of strings as he sets a foot inside, so Tetsurou’s head turns around to stare at Kei taking off his shoes at the door. Kei looks up and freezes, foot slowly descending to the ground.

“Hi,” Tetsurou says casually, welcoming him home.

Kei’s face pinches. He looks like he’s in so much pain, the way his face twists when there’s something is too sour on his tongue. When his face unclenches, he says, “Why are you like this?”

Tetsurou doesn’t get it until he realizes how he must look hanging from the ceiling, head rotated to a full one-eighty. He shrugs. “Uhhh, I don’t know, maybe because I’m like—dead?”

Kei stomps off with mutters of  ‘ _fuck this The Exorcist bullshit.’_ It’s less than half-an-hour before Kei is sitting below him, hypnotized by the machine that sharpens pencils before they go in the box with a bowl of strawberries between his thighs.

* * *

Before going to bed, Kei has some tea. He’s like an old man, putting leaves and little white flowers whole into cloths to boil them. He adds sweetness and—behold!— his bedtime drink. It’s kind of cute how someone as old as Kei still has a little warm drink before bed.

He prepares it carefully. It’s an event of sorts, him setting everything on the counter neatly before setting the kettle to boil. He listens to music as he does it, every night, humming along to tunes only he can hear.

It’s fascinating. “Can I ask you something?”

Kei doesn’t look away from his soon to be boiled leaf arrangement. “Is it going to be annoying?”

“No.”

“Would you still ask if it were?”

“Yes,” Kuroo answers honestly.

Kei nods and closes the cloth with the string attached to it. It seems like a drag to have to tie all of together painstakingly and then have to clean it out every single time, but Kei carries on. Tonight’s plants of choice are chamomile and mint. After he’s tied the string around the cloth several times, he agrees with a wave of his hand, “Ask away.”

“Why do you wear headphones inside the house? Like, outside I get. You don’t want people to talk to you. But in your room?”

Kei blinks at him in confusion, making Tetsurou feel dumb as fuck. “Aren't you watching your shows?”

That clears up nothing. “Yes?”

Kei is still looking at him like the answers is written on his forehead. Like Tetsurou should know this because it’s so fucking obvious and—oh!

“Yes. Yes, I am,” he bullshits, unsuccessfully.

Kei goes about his business in the kitchen, humming to himself under his breath. Completing his archaic tea-making progress is as usual, all the way until he’s pouring some honey on the steaming cup. When he’s done, he exits the room like it’s no big deal that Tetsurou is such an absolute idiot, leaving him to float in the middle of the room, unanchored.

Tetsurou watches his novelas at full volume. Kei doesn’t want to disrupt him by playing his music out loud because he’s the only one who _can_ wear headphones in this household.  

Tetsurou starts to shake a tad. Just enough for his form to rock back and forth an inch or so. Has Kei always been like this? A sweet kid underneath all that not-sweetness that mocks Tetsurou on a daily basis?

He’s so… nice.

In a quiet, unobtrusive way. Like he’s pretending he’s not, all hard edges and steel nerves that don’t get scared at all by anything, even a ghost waking him up in the middle of the night. All evidence proves otherwise.

Other than the fact that his nose scrunches at Tetsurou’s type of entertainment, he’s perfect. What if Kei never decided to live there? What if he had taken one look inside and decided no amount of reduced pricing could make him share his apartment with a ghost?

Tetsurou shudders just thinking about it.

He’s so glad Kei decided to stay.

* * *

One could say their kitchen is small.

It’s not the biggest and it’s a little cramped, but it gets the job done. The white cabinets aren’t all that brilliant white anymore and sometimes the stove has this weird whirring sound that goes on and off randomly. Kei keeps it cleaner than any other tenant that’s lived there, down to the neatly organized insides of the cabinets, piles, and stacks of similar ingredients and cans peeking out. The doors used to squeak but Kei oiled them after a couple of weeks of futilely trying to stare them down into submission.

Soft, delicate sounds accompanied by a deep bass float through the room around them, loud enough to be heard but not enough to dull the sound of Kei’s movements. He’s chopping carrots in his pajamas, hand steady. Every swing of his wrist builds a rhythm when metal meets wood. _Thunk, thunk, thunk,_ merges with the beats of the song in a steady lull.

Kei actually cooks most of his meals, not at all instant ramen and scrambled eggs, as one might assume of a young adult living alone. Tonight is curry, in quantities enough to feed maybe five or six. Tsukki divides it into 10 portions. He needs to eat more, he’s still growing.

Tetsurou hums, looking at Kei’s plate with pity. “You eat so little. Like a baby bird.”

Kei points the knife at him, “Don’t you ever say that to me again.”

They fall back into pleasant silence, Tetsurou entranced by the repetitive motions of Kei’s hands.

Kei is a  pretty good cook. The shiny white rice cooker is used often, and the spice rack is supremely well stocked. This also means Kei has a shopping list on the fridge, a small magnetic dry erase board and marker. Black lines now show a wobbly apple, a clown, and a dick, courtesy of Tetsurou. They stand there is silence, Tetsuro more than content to just watch Kei’s hands move around confidently.

“So how _did_ you die?”

Tetsurou isn't expecting it and the pieces of carrot he’s making float fall ungraciously back on the cutting board. Kei’s tone is casual as if asking about the weather or what happened in the novela yesterday. The lack of build up catches Tetsurou by surprise.

He’s a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, mum and wide eyes. He shakes himself out of it but the chill that surrounds him drops enough for Kei’s arms to go prickly with goosebumps.

Tetsurou chuckles, awkwardly, and pretends he doesn’t see it. He’s not doing a very good job. “Tell you what, tell me how you can see ghosts and I’ll spill. Show you mine if you show me yours.” He ends his sentence with a wiggle of his eyebrow, not particularly wanting Kei to agree. This is a conversation he’s not dying– _ha, ha_ —to have any time soon, if ever.

Kei says nothing. He’s too focused on his hairs standing on end thanks to Tetsurou’s spike of fear, and the distorted sounds of the music behind them. The bass is choking and the voice that goes with it is a siren, slowly but surely grabbing Tetsurou’s windpipe and squeezing. _I thought ghosts couldn’t die?_

Kei is staring into him again, in that way of his. He’s nothing but a trapped bug to be dissected and placed in glass for eternity, Kei’s hand holding the pin at the ready.

Then, it stops. Kei’s eyes stop the hunt, and the corner of his lips curl in a smile that is just as small as it is sardonic. The chopping starts again, then stops. He picks up a chunk of carrot, holds it up. Buries his gaze on Tetsurou head on.  “I’ll tell you what I told the creepy old dude in the park that said that to me last: Fuck off,” and takes a bite.

* * *

Tetsurou replays that moment in his head over and over, when the night is his.

The wind howls and the trees shake, and he sees Kei’s smile in his mind’s eye a million times over. Sadness pulls at him, something like hurt lancing through the memory. It makes him sad but brings with it the sort comfort only to be found in understanding. In a similar soul.

 _Me too,_ it said. _I know ache, too. Keep quiet, keep your pain as your own, if you wish._

So, he does.

Tetsurou thinks of it, and of before, and stares at the moon while Kei sleeps.

They both pretend nothing’s happened the next day. It fills Tetsurou with relief. Things go back to normal. It won’t last, but Tetsurou is going to enjoy every second of it.

* * *

Beige walls glow blue with moonlight streaming in through the open window, occasional gusts of wind howling against the glass. Kei is snoring under his covers, blankets wrapped around him here and there from his usual thrashing around. Tetsurou is on a mission. He hovers above him, careful not to touch anything but the pillow Kei’s head rests on.

Inches away from Kei’s head, he causes the pillow underneath his head to jerk violently.

“Fu—”

Tetsurou gets right down to business. "Alright. I need to know. The socks."

"Wha?"

"The socks."

Kei blinks rapidly. He’s disoriented, it shows, but Tetsurou is burning with questions after witnessing three new pairs in the laundry basket.  Kei tries, looking around to the room to see any danger looming. "Do I need my glasses for this? Is something going on?"

"No, everything is fine.” Everything except Tetsurou’s burning need for knowledge. “Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the socks!"

Kei stares a little past his face, squinting. Kei can’t see very well without his glasses and the low light probably isn’t helping. After thinking it for a bit he settles on an adorably sleepy, "My feet get cold?"

Now Tetsurou feels like a jerk. He’s such a terrible not-human. "That's not—Just go back to sleep."

"Thank fuck. Get out of my room, pervert."

There it is. The Kei he knows.

* * *

"How can you be so mean?"

"I'm not the one ranting about socks at three in the morning and waking up people who still need to sleep."

It’s pinned in place with thumbtacks, tiny points stabbing the wood. They keep the cliché looking protection circle tacked on to the door of Kei’s bedroom.

Tetsurou laughed when Kei ripped open the package to pull out something that looks like it belongs to you neighborhood alternative teenage girl going through her witch phase.

The fabric is purple, the lettering gold, and much to Tetsurou’s dismay… it’s working, disrupting the flow of energy and keeping it contained to the room, keeping Tetsurou out. The rest of the apartment is nipping at him from where the current is cut off at the door, overflow coming back in to rise the usual output and making Tetsurou jittery.

"Where would you even get something like this!?”

Kei doesn’t even bother on looking up from his book. "Etsy."

He eventually—after a lot Tetsurou’s pleading and a glitch or two caused by the energy feedback—takes it down with the promise that Tetsurou will not wake him up anymore unless there is an emergency.

“And by emergency,” Kei spells out, “I mean that if I am not awake someone is either already dying or going to die. Only.”

“What if there’s a rat?”

If there’s a rat, surely, Kei would wanna know.

“Is someone dead?”

Tetsurou’s hand waves over him.“Uhm, always?”

“Anyone who isn’t you,” Kei snaps. “Asleep.”

* * *

_“Quien es ese hombre, que me mira y me desnuda, una fiera inquieta que me da mil vueltas y me hace temblar pero me hace sentir–”_ Tetsurou twirls, singing from deep in his fake gut. Kei stares at him, dawn rising behind him and haloing him in yellow light. His eyes are dead _. “Mujeeeeeeeer.”_

Tetsurou serenades him, belting out the song with feeling, letting his voice rise with the beginning of a new day. _“Nadie me lo quita! Siempre seré yo su—_ Where are you going?”

“To google how to exorcise a ghost.”

* * *

Tetsurou can’t feel the heat of the rays hitting his body. The floor doesn’t feel as much of anything underneath him either. Still, stretching out in front of the window is one of his favorite things to do when it’s a sunny day outside.

Temperature means nothing to him, so any heat derived from the rays is null, but the sun delivers a specific type of energy. It charges the webs and strings and lines that it’s rays hit with something that makes the apartment throb with life. It’s clean and fresh, vibrant and alive.

Tetsurou sinks into it, connecting with it where it hits the floor through the open window. The point of contact is where it’s the strongest, bleeding to the rest of the apartment slowly. It’s not the only point where the rays converge with the steady pulse of the apartment; The stray light that hits the couch, the sliver of gold that reflects off the metal of the stove and is refracted into smaller, weaker spots all over the ceiling, all of them hum with that soft vibration.

It’s…. Invigorating, bringing out something in him that buzzes and pulses all over his entity. When he’s been charging for too long it’ll spill over his form and onto the web underneath him, connecting them further. He’ll be jumpy and bubbly, and sometimes it’s too much for him to handle before sunset.

Night comes and the moon fades in with peace, pushing and pulling at the currents that reside inside of everyone until there’s only soft rocking and calm.

Humans—alive humans, he means— feel it too, the water and oceans inside of them responding to the connection to the moon without knowing. The sun, too, but that one is easier for them to see in their vitamins and their color. Too much sun is much more obvious, like in the way Kei’s cheeks flush and the top of his shoulders go pink on a very sunny day.

There’s a perfect measure of them, balance in its purest form, like dipping in the essence of the universe itself. He feeds on both when he can, praying for clear skies without the barrier of clouds to muddle it. It’s why he hates overcast days, it’s neither here nor there, not enough to reach his little piece of world—tepid.

(Tetsurou wonders if vampires feel that gnawing ache inside, cast aside by the sun, an eternal life filled with too much of one and not the other; if the damned part of that existence is a forever lived in unbalance. But then again, vampires might not exist. He hopes they don’t, if that’s the case.)

Tetsurou is so immensely glad that Kei likes having natural light flowing in, that he seeks the soft rolling breeze and the way it makes everything he can’t see stir, keeping it in motion.  Tetsurou had to fight to keep the drapes open enough for his liking before.

Noon has hit its peak, the sun streaming in with force, keeping Tetsurou anchored to his spot by the window. He stretches, the buzzing flaring and evening out throughout his body. “If I ever come back, I want to be a cat. Laze around in the sunlight all day, do nothing but sleep.”

“So exactly what you do now,” Kei quips, not looking away from his book.

They’re having a lazy day. Kei’s taken to be around where Tetsurou is, when the sun is high and the rain hits hard enough for Tetsurou to feel it beyond the stray drops crashing against the window panes. Maybe Kei can feel it with his powers too, the connection. He still doesn’t know how that works, but he’s not eager to push where he’s not wanted right now.

“I take offense to that. I write your shopping list,” Tetsurou huffs, unbothered. Ghosts can’t sleep, anyway. He’s buzzing, alive and full and drunk. Before he can think better of it he says, “You know what I miss? Dreams.”

Kei goes stock still, his ever swinging leg stopping abruptly.  

Tetsurou continues, too full of sun to notice. “ I used to have these crazy dreams and— shit, they scared me, but I miss them.”

Silence breaks between them, odd where it wasn’t before. Tetsurou is half-inclined to believe it’s his fault, but he’s too floaty for it to really register.

“I had a weird dream last night.” Kei’s words are stilted and low. The admission is a rare one, Kei not being all that disposed to sharing information about himself without being questioned. Even then, it’s more likely he’ll ignore the question outright.

Tetsurou is all open ears. “Yeah?”

“I had to fight sheep.”

He chuckles. “That’s not _that_ weird.”

“The sheep were lime green and had three eyes. And they wore a hat. I think one of them had a sword?”

A giggle burst out of him. That is pretty weird. “How does a sheep wield a sword?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

Kei giggles too, a foreign sound to the walls around them. It spurs Tetsurou on even more until he’s tittering and snorting into the floor. “It’s _your_ subconscious!”

Kei tells him about the sword-wielding lime-green sheep with three eyes, and then about a nightmare he had two days ago that involved a giant pumpkin, and a recurrent dream he’s had since he was six that leaves him floating in pink colored jelly after he accidentally fell into a pool.  

Tetsurou buzzes, whether from the sun or from Kei trying to comfort his dreamless life, he doesn’t know.

* * *

“What did you do for a living when you were, you know, alive?”

“I was a hairstylist.”

Kei’s cackle is lightning quick and harsh, tapering off into soft sniffles. “That’s funny.”

Tetsurou doesn’t understand. “Why are you laughing?"

Kei sobers up quickly, looking lost. “Oh. You’re serious. But—your hair?”

Tetsurou feels himself flush, shaking from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He doesn’t glitch anymore, he’s learned how to handle it better but there’s no way to stop the fizzing running through him.

Still, he sinks into the line to try and stop it by feeding it, popping out in the kitchen to point at Kei from across the room, indignant. “Shut up! I died while I was running, this is not my fault! Fate is a cruel mistress. I can't believe you would come after me like this after all we've been through together—”

* * *

Kei has a nice singing voice. He does it without thinking, Tetsurou guesses, matching whatever song is playing through his headphones. His voice has a smoothness to it that lulls Tetsurou into relaxing. More often than not it’ll start as a whisper, inaudible through the walls.

Kei’s leg dangles from the side of the couch. He came home from his study group to find Tetsurou in his usual corner-ceiling spot and, resigned to it, flung himself out face down on the cushions.

A questionable, albeit brave, move considering that couch came with the apartment and Tetsurou has seen… things. He napped, kitten snores filling the space between them, before he woke and started to sing. Tetsurou suspects half-asleep Kei forgot that Tetsurou was in the room entirely and is doing what he usually does when he’s on his own.

Sweet and low, Kei sings. Too mumbled and riddled with sleep to make any sort of sense. Calm washes over him. Not even the ever moving blotches and lines that riddle his vision when he closes his eyes can tear him away from this moment. They dance in front of him,  floating in the afternoon sun.

It’s wonderful.

It doesn’t feel as if it should exist.

A mirage, an idea of what some sort of peace he could have in this existence. The thought petrifies him to the core. The spell is broken, and he’s left staring down at blonde hair and a slow rising chest. Any second now, he’ll disappear. Gone with the breeze, dissolving into that golden light.

Tetsurou will be alone again.

It takes seventeen million seconds for Tetsurou to say anything. “Kei?”

Kei’s chest expands with a harsh breath. His form moves and breathes, both ethereal and earthly. He raises his head a tad and pulls down the left side of his headphone. “Hmm?”

Like magic, Kei’s voice anchors him. “Nothing.”

Kei huffs and puts his face back against the cushioned fabric. “Okay, weirdo.”

It takes minutes but Kei starts to sing again, and the fear fades. He’s content. Looking down on to the living room, he can see Kei’s closed eyes and the way his mouth curves around words, entirely real.  

The spell comes back, renewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kuroo is singing the chorus of this song from Pasión de Gavilanes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79asYt-Ygqo)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!! You can come yell at me at:  
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/ivyfics)  
> [Tumblr ](http://ivyfics.tumblr.com/)


End file.
